


Compulsion

by drabbleandfluff



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M, Obsessive-Compulsive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:10:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drabbleandfluff/pseuds/drabbleandfluff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hisagi Shuuhei has some interesting quirks that Urahara uncovers and wants to analyze.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compulsion

**Author's Note:**

> Written for springkink and the prompt: Bleach, Urahara/Shuuhei: Disorders (obsessive-compulsive disorder) – The kid has some interesting quirks. 
> 
> Originally written March 2010

Nine.

nine… 

… nine

Shaded gray eyes observe the young shinigami sitting at the low table on the back porch, sipping afternoon green tea. Hisagi Shuuhei is attempting a crossword puzzle. Urahara watches as nimble fingers twirl a pen in revolutions of nine over and around the index and middle fingers, while guiding the slender writing instrument with a thumb. A small curious glimmer ignites in the back of his eyes.

“Hisagi-fukutaicho…” the tenchou eventually announces himself, smiling a little too broadly behind his ubiquitous rice-paper fan, “it’s a pleasant surprise to find you here. Our humble abode is usually graced by the ever ravenous and ever gullible Abarai-fukutaicho.”

Shuuhei nods affirmatively, a small friendly smile pulling at his lips, “Good afternoon, Urahara-san. Yes, Abarai was scheduled for this two week patrol, but he had previous plans for the weekend… and I offered to come in his stead.”

“Oh?” blond eyebrows rise slightly in surprise, “I wouldn’t think Kuchiki-taicho would be one to allow the forsaking of duty… _for pleasure_ , I’d assume,” he ended conspiratorially, voice dipping into innuendo.

Feigning seriousness, the fukutaicho replied in equally complicit suggestion, “What if I happen to mention that Kuchiki-taicho was part of Abarai’s plans?”   

Kisuke’s blond brows practically arched off his head. “What?!”-- the shopkeeper cried, too stunned for words.

A light chuckle rolled up the back of Hisagi’s throat, “I’m just exaggerating a bit, Urahara-san,” raising the tea to his lips, he acknowledged apologetically.  “The Sixth was scheduled for training this weekend-- the _entire_ division. So I should rephrase and say that the _division_ is relieved that their plans still involve Abarai; instead of them having to contend with Kuchiki taicho alone.”

Urahara snorted affably; the quiet fukutaicho appeared to have some personality-- _what a welcome distraction._  It had been quiet around the shop lately. 

“Hisagi-san…” Kisuke rebuked despondently, “don’t be so mean to an old man by giving me such high hopes.” The blond pretended to dab at his nostril, “I almost burst a vessel thinking such wonderful thoughts about my favorite fukutaicho-- ah, no offense to you, of course… and Kuchiki-taicho.”

“Ah! Excuse me, Urahara-san…” Shuuhei grinned unrepentantly, “and thank you for allowing me to stay here. Would you like some tea?” he asked, as he prepared to fetch another cup should the answer be ‘yes’.

“Oh no, no thank you,” Kisuke replied, “I was just walking through. I’ll see you at supper, Hisagi-san.” As he walked past Hisagi to go back into the house, Urahara cast a casual glance down at the lieutenant’s notebook.

He notices with interest, the doodles on the page as Hisagi goes back to working on his crossword puzzle. The crossword itself, is from a book that Urahara has many of, at the front of his shop. Being that Karakura town is a nice cross-cultural metropolis, the tenchou stocks books and magazines in both Japanese and English, (plus a few in French and Russian, as well). Hisagi has picked up an English crossword book, so he is filling in the answers using the English alphabet. In the blank spaces surrounding the puzzle, Arabic numbers are practiced in the margins. 

The numbers six and a nine are particularly prominent, bordering the edge of the page over and over again in succession. Towards the bottom, the six and the nine are bunched closer together so that they begin to overlap each other on the page. Eventually, it looks like they change places so that it is a nine and a six in sequence instead… the loops of the numbers begin to elongate as the pattern works its way up the other side of the page, and eventually, the six-nine, nine-six merge resembles the symbol of what Urahara has seen termed the representation of ‘infinity’, a sidewards ‘8’.

Inquisitively, Kisuke studies the fukutaicho under the shaded brim of his hat. The scientist in him can’t help but subtly probe at the tightly held reiatsu of Hisagi Shuuhei, and he discovers (uncovers) the roiling intensity and rampant barely-restrained force lying beneath the calm surface. Urahara’s interest is piqued, and he smiles to himself; this shinigami has a reserve of untapped power _… and the kid’s got a few quirks,_ to say the least.  

With a hand on the wooden door, Kisuke hears a distracted inquiry from his guest.

“What’s a…” Hisagi murmurs quietly, interrupting Kisuke’s thoughts; he counts out the white boxes on his paper, “ten letter word for ‘unconscious and irrational repetition ’?”

Urahara cocks his head to the side as he turns toward Hisagi once again, as if he’s thinking about it. All the while his eyes watch the twirl of the pen still in Hisagi’s hand subconsciously continuing to spin in revolutions of nine.  _Ironic…_  Urahara smiles wide, gray eyes glinting in playful humor.

“Compulsion.”

\--

It’s been a few days in Karakura without any hollow sightings… well, hollows that required the Ninth’s fukutaicho to concern himself with, that is. Most low-level hollows are cleansed by that other shinigami sent to patrol the city… that afro-haired guy… what was his name? For the life of him, Hisagi can’t remember. And then there's always Kurosaki and those friends of his-- the Quincy, the big buy and the girl. Now, why _exactly_ , was he sent here?

Feeling more than a bit restless without much to do, Shuuhei finds his way down into the underground training area under the shoten. Renji had mentioned it to him; this wide open space of epic proportions.

After discovering that he has absolute privacy down here, Shuuhei makes time to train every day. Being away from Soul Society provides him a strange sense of freedom. No one can see him in this underground training field, no one can sense him either; no one can judge his… _relationship_ with his zanpakuto.

Unsheathing his katana, Shuuhei runs his fingers over the naked blade and summons Kazeshini.

_Come on out, you bastard…_

 

From a distance, Urahara watches the dark fukutaicho. He mentally calculates and catalogues Hisagi’s strengths and weaknesses while observing the sparring between shinigami and zanpakuto. Unlike most clashes between reaper and sword, this brawl seems aggressive and hostile; it’s not simply a match of strength or competency-- it’s a no-holds-barred grudge match. The reiatsu rolling off both souls are heavy in mistrust; disgust and disdain.

In addition to his dissection of Hisagi’s fighting prowess, Kisuke can’t fail to notice the lieutenant’s physical attributes appreciatively… _extensively._  The fukutaicho is liquid motion; sleek, nimble movement, amenable, adaptable-- _flexible._  He moves with lethal grace, quickly and efficiently. Like the namesake of his soul slayer, he is death on the wind. 

But until he can reconcile himself with his soul’s other half, Urahara notes skeptically, as Shuuhei is slammed into the earth yet again; he will continue to be mentally weighed down with his egodystonic disorder. Urahara can sense how much mental effort it takes the fukutaicho to simply activate shikai; and that his recurrent repetitive behavior even conforms itself in his fighting patterns.   Urahara’s analytic mind uncovers the revolutions and strike patterns in multiples of nine, _yet again_. It goes without saying, that if he can do it, so can others.

 

The more time Hisagi spends at the shoten, the more Urahara’s attention is grabbed by the odd idiosyncrasies demonstrated by the young lieutenant. 

Meals were by far the most interesting. Food picked up and placed on Hisagi’s plate were usually nine of something. Nine cherry tomatoes, nine pieces of sashimi, nine slivers of pickled ginger. Things unable to procure in clumps of nine were _sliced_ into nine pieces. 

Urahara doesn’t count it, because, goodness, this obsession is starting to get to him too-- but he assumes Hisagi chews his food nine times before swallowing.

Kisuke’s mind could not help but wander… what else did Hisagi-san do to the tune of nine?  Did he brush each tooth nine times? Did he… did he stroke _other things_ by the count of nine?  

The tenchou can’t help the salacious grin he gets at that thought.

 

\--

Shuuhei picks himself off the dirt again. Another lengthy spar with Kazeshini leaves him sweat soaked, caked in dirt, and cut with twenty or so open wounds. Some are mere scratches, others go pretty deep into muscle or tissue. Shuuhei is just thankful that the healing springs are close _._

_Thank fuck for that crazy genius._

Just as he’s done for the last week, Shuuhei starts stripping as he heads toward the steaming water. Twenty feet before he even gets there, he pulls off his top. He pulls at the ties to the obi and as the hakama drop he steps out of them. As he walks he toes off his waraji, then the tabi in succession with a quick bend and swipe. A black and white trail is left in his wake. 

Finally, five feet away from nirvana, Shuuhei starts to pull at the fundoshi. He knows it would be polite to keep it on, _after all this isn’t his hot-springs_ , and he knows first-handedly, the tendency  of the shop owner to show up at the most inopportune times-- quite frankly, the guy either times himself very well, or he really, _really_ , has no sense of propriety. 

But after the first week of being completely alone down here, knowing _he was the only one using it_ … Shuuhei’s own comfort in not having it on makes him unthinkingly unwind the material as he nears the water. 

He tips his head back; his eyes snapping shut as he bends his neck to pop the vertebrae left, then right… The fundoshi is already falling to the ground at his feet when he hears a familiar voice in greeting from the direction of the water.

“Hisagi-san.”

_Oh fuck._

“Ah! Urahara-san… uh… didn't know you were…” Hisagi startles, eyes wide open as his head snaps back upright.

Urahara is sitting low on one side of the hot springs, green and white striped moniker still on his head. A wooden tray with a bottle of sake and two bowls sit on the bank next to him. 

“I’m glad you’re making yourself comfortable around here…” Urahara snickers jovially, “funny how I can never convince Kurosaki to be as free as you are.”

Shuuhei can’t see Urahara’s eyes, shaded by the ever-present hat; and the fukutaicho gets the distinct feeling… _he’s not looking at his eyes_. Either way, Shuuhei doesn’t much care. Having grown up in the Rukongai and having been a soldier for over half a century has blunted any modesty issues for the tattooed fukutaicho. He’s been in enough situations where showing a bit of skin didn’t matter much at all. So he doesn’t cover himself up, the thought doesn’t even cross his mind.

Urahara grins widely, “Come on in, Hisagi-san. I hope I’m not intruding in on your _alone time_.”   

Shuuhei smiles back easily, running a hand through his short hair and watching as the dust falls out of it, even after his not-so-stellar sparring with his divergent zanpakuto, “…it’s nothing that’s not worth sharing.”

He groans softly as he slides into the water; as the healing spring zips electrical pulses of reiatsu throughout his tired muscles. Shuuhei’s eyes fall to half-mast, slightly rolling in its sockets as the water heals his body of the scratches and slashes to his arms, legs, back and chest. It’s a combination of heady heat and indirect pleasure infusing his body simultaneously. Inadvertently, his cock also starts to rise as his exhausted body soaks in the rush of reiatsu replenishment.

Shuuhei slowly lowers himself to sink underwater. After a span of a few heartbeats, he breaks above the surface again, whipping his head around to shake the water off his hair and face. He finds a place to sit and slouches down so that the water level sits right under his chin. Little droplets of water drip off the spiky ends of his jet black hair, and bead off long, dark eyelashes. Content, he closes his eyes with a satisfied sigh.

Urahara has been watching him the entire time.

“Well…”

Shuuhei fights to open his eyes as he hears the rippling of water.

“-- you look like you could really use some peace and quiet, I’ll let you keep this time to yourself, Hisagi-san,” Urahara stands up in the water and turns so his back is facing Hisagi. He leans over to pour a bit of clear liquid into the ceramic bowls, “care for a shot of sake before I head off?”

Shuuhei slowly opens his mouth, about to tell his host to stay, when he is caught unprepared.

Urahara is a very tall man; standing in the water, it softly laps at the sharp jut of hipbone, if that. Hisagi is graced with the view of a sinewy muscled back narrowing into a lean waist, and the beautiful beginnings of the swell of Kisuke’s ass; tight, pale… _perfect_. 

Hisagi wants to reach out, _with his teeth_ , to take a bite. 

If that’s not temptation enough, the water sluicing down Kisuke’s back, rolling down off the sides of his ribs to teasingly drip back into the spring, seems to flow in slow motion, like the leisurely caress of fingers.

Hisagi’s cock goes rock hard. 

His throat is abruptly dry too, all of a sudden, and he thinks he _absolutely needs_ that shot of sake. He blames his sudden uncontrollable lusty thoughts on the influx of energy into his soul; _it’s this damned pond’s fault I’m as horny as fuck..._

Hisagi finds he needs to work his jaw in order to get the saliva to flow again, so that he can properly answer his host’s question. 

In the mean time, Urahara has turned his head with an eyebrow arched, as his question had yet to be answered. Kisuke recognizes the slightly dilated pupils, notices the soft pink flush under the high bronze cheekbones… he smiles enticingly, mutual interest lighting up gunmetal-gray eyes.

Kisuke’s eyes dip down the front of Hisagi, as if he can see below the water, “you look like you could use a little help there, Hisagi-san.”

Shuuhei’s eyes widen in surprise.  He can’t believe it. No, wait a minute; he can. Urahara Kisuke, the self proclaimed pervert (and brilliant shop keeper), offers up a little fun-time in the hot springs? 

 _Oh hell yes_ … Hisagi is definitely down with that.

Shaking off his initial shock, an easy smile upturns Shuuhei’s lips, “Then I guess I’m gonna have to say yes, _to both of your offers_ , Urahara-san.”

Eyes bright, Urahara picks up the ceramic bottle and heads over toward Hisagi. He is pale skin pulled tightly over hard chiseled muscle and broad shoulders, of abdominal muscles that ripple as he walks.  

Anticipation starts to smolder in Shuuhei’s belly, he is so worked up by the reiatsu flooding his body that his skin feels electric, and he hopes he can hold out so that this won’t be over before it really gets started. 

Urahara passes Shuuhei the sake bottle, and he tips his dark head back, taking a large swig, savoring the burn at the back of his throat as the warm liquid heat adds to the pleasure expanding from deep in his belly.  

As he rights his head, Shuuhei is met with a hot wet mouth and a sake laced tongue. Gasping in surprise, as his open mouth is invaded, Shuuhei can feel himself being pushed up against the rock at his back. Shuuhei’s head is tipped back, his chin pushed up and his neck stretched tight. He groans into Kisuke’s mouth at the undeniable play of domination.

Panting heavily as Urahara pulls away to lick the firm line of his jaw and move down his neck, Shuuhei blindly puts down the sake bottle behind him on the bank and reaches up with this other hand to remove Kisuke’s hat.

That causes a pause in the blond’s actions as he raises curious eyes to the tanned fukutaicho.

Shuuhei teases lightly, “come on Urahara-san, you weren’t thinking we were gonna do this with the hat on, right?”

Kisuke chuckles softly against Shuuhei’s neck, biting none too softly at the tendon stretched tight, causing a hitch in the chest below, “you’d be surprised at the things I manage to do, _with my hat on_ , Hisagi-san,” the blond purrs deeply against the flushed and heated skin.

Shuuhei murmurs, as devilishly astute hands map their way over his body, “oh, that’s just teasing...” Shuuhei raises his other arm out of the water and brushes Urahara’s hair back out of his eyes, “and I’m a greedy bastard when it comes to my partners, Urahara-san. I want to _see_ who I’m fucking.”  

Humming appreciatively at Hisagi’s straightforwardness, Kisuke wraps his hands around Shuuhei’s hips, and using his size and strength to an advantage, pulls him up. To their left is another flat rock bench, this one just slightly out of the water. Kisuke sits and straddles Hisagi in his lap. 

Shuuhei threads his wet hands through Urahara’s unkempt hair, pulling it away from his face and eyes. He looks directly into those steely gray irises gone molten dark in desire; his own shining in victory as he gets to see Urahara in his barest form. A wicked gleam fires beneath black pupils as Shuuhei leans up on his knees and uses his newly found leverage in soft blond hair to pull Kisuke’s head back. He hears a soft surprised grunt escape Urahara’s throat, and it drives his desire ever higher. 

The fukutaicho leans down and kisses Kisuke with a barely restrained lust, taking initiative, taking ownership of that clever and ever elusive mouth. Slippery tongues meet and thrust in ever increasing fervor. 

Urahara’s hands move up to caress Shuuhei’s thighs, fingers digging deep as they run over the top of hard muscles, and back over smooth, wet skin. His right hand shifts to cup one half of Shuuhei’s delectably tight ass, while the other moves forward to wrap itself around hard, hot flesh.  
  
Shuuhei moans into Kisuke’s mouth, his hips pushing forward automatically into that grip as he settles down onto Urahara’s thighs. 

“You’re so usually restrained, Hisagi-san…” Kisuke breathes heavily between them, nipping at Shuuhei’s lower lip with blunt teeth, “I didn’t know you had this in you.”   Kisuke’s large hand lines their cocks together, the effect drawing long groans from both of them, as they rub, inch to inch; Kisuke's wrist twists and starts a sensuous glide.

Hisagi’s head falls back as his hips arch up into this wondrous stroking. It _had_ been a long time, and this felt _so damn good_ … “I’m full of surprises, Urahara-san,” he manages to rasp as the pleasure starts to build.  

Hisagi detangles a hand from Kisuke’s hair, lowering it to cover and assist the dexterous one around their cocks gifting him with this mind altering stroke. To it, he adds his own bias-- a swipe of a thumb across both heads and then a brief stilling of his hips. 

Within what seems like, an established pattern… of nine…

Stunned, it takes three runs through the rhythm before Urahara even realizes it… and it’s only because he’s so thoroughly _distracted_ that he hadn’t noticed it earlier.  _Unbelievable._   

Urahara turns his gaze into Shuuhei’s face. He sees the rapturous expression and doesn’t believe the young shinigami actually realizes what he’s doing. 

Impishly, to test his discovery, Kisuke pumps his fist over Shuuhei’s cock-- halting at seven strokes…. _pump_ … _pump_ … Hisagi’s hips thrust those last two times on its own. Kisuke does it again, slowing to a halt at six strokes. Hisagi’s hips again finish out the pattern themselves. 

Urahara wants to play it out more, _because, damn, it is wild that someone is this hard-coded to compulsion_ … but Shuuhei has leaned forward, and is now nibbling and biting at his neck, at his chin. He starts to moan into Urahara’s ear, low and agonizing, his hips moving with increased urgency. Hisagi’s mouth moves lower, his tongue lapping at the mixture of water and sweat on Urahara’s skin. 

As Hisagi’s lips find a sensitive nipple, it latches around it sucking hard, brushing it with rough wet heat. Urahara arches into the incredible feeling shooting heat deep into his belly, through to his cock.

Shuuhei moves his mouth to the other neglected nipple, his free hand scraping blunt nails over wet skin to pinch and roll the abandoned one. Soon, Urahara’s brain starts to balk at doing work, it just wants to feel and indulge in the wonderful sensations being transmitted up the scientist’s spine.

Hisagi’s ravenous mouth moves back up Urahara’s neck, moving to suck at the hollow behind Kisuke’s ear.  Shuuhei whispers roughly, “Come with me, Urahara-san…” 

With a gasp and a groan of relief, Shuuhei throws his head back, tendons on his neck standing out as his entire body trembles and stiffens as hot come coats Urahara’s hand.   

Urahara is not far behind.  Kisuke pulls Hisagi to him one last time by pressing a hand between his shoulder blades, causing Shuuhei’s chest to arch forward. Urahara enthusiastically lowers his mouth latching onto the firm skin stretched tight over the protruding collarbone; he bites down and with two more strokes of his own wrist, he too experiences the glorious quickening of orgasm.  
 

After a minute slumped together catching their breaths, they silently agree to slip back into the springs. The healing and cleaning qualities of the miracle water washes everything away. They sit side by side in comfortable silence.  Urahara eventually turns and grabs his hat, jauntily placing it back where it belongs.

“Hisagi-san,” he dares venture inquisitively, “do you know you have a… _partiality_ , let’s call it, for the number nine?”

“Mmm?” Shuuhei replies, barely able to open an eye to look at his host, “You don’t say?”

“Yes, quite. Interesting, really… but you were... ah, thrusting into my hand to the count of nine… although toward the end there, I admit you stopped short…”

In his head, Urahara’s brain protests, but automatically calculates the amount… _seven sets of nine thrusts… then six separate ones…._

“I’m surprised,” Shuuhei mumbles satedly, “since I think I’m more partial to the number…”

_A total of sixty-nine…_

“Sixty-nine.”

 

 


End file.
